


Paper Games

by thisbluespirit



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1970s, Co-workers, Community: genprompt_bingo, F/M, Humor, Office, Office Party, Office Supplies, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 03:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16338764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/pseuds/thisbluespirit
Summary: Julia’s playing a game with Edward Iveson, but she really should have worked out the rules first…





	Paper Games

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the genprompt_bingo sqaure "co-workers" (although mostly just to cheer myself up). Standalone AU for an old Runaway Tales origfic canon of mine.

**i. reunion (July 1974)**

On starting work as personal assistant to Mr Harding (Head of Sales and Marketing at Kingsley & Dent’s Stationers & Co.), Julia had several aims, including not getting fired, possibly getting a raise within the year – and getting Edward Iveson to kiss her in the office.

To be fair, she would take him asking her out for dinner or a drink and kissing her elsewhere as a win, too. Whatever the case, he was going to do one of those things before the year was out, even if she died in the attempt. 

 

“Miss Graves, this is Mr Iveson, our Assistant Head of Sales and Marketing,” Mr Harding said, crossing the main office with Julia in his wake to effect the introduction.

“Good God – _Julia_ ,” Edward said, turning and then stopping in shock. “Miss Graves, I suppose I should say.”

She held out her hand with a smile. “Yes. Although I am surprised you remembered. It has been over three years, hasn’t it?” 

She had liked Edward very much back then and hoped he’d liked her, although there had been considerable complications on his side, so she hadn’t blamed him for not saying anything until his divorce was over. What she blamed him for was running off when her family lost their money and Father died, like the proverbial rat from the sinking ship. He was more of a friend of the family than hers, and she’d thought that he was the reliable sort who would have at least have stood by her brother and her mother, regardless of whether or not he had feelings for Julia. Which she still felt sure he _had_.

“It has,” he said, shaking her hand. “Hardly long enough to forget any of you, though.” Now that he’d recovered from his initial surprise, he had reverted to being impenetrably polite and professional at her. She’d probably have to get used to that, and be professional right back at him. “Mr Harding did say something about a Miss Graves joining us, but I didn’t dream it would be you.”

“Well, it is.” 

It wasn’t really all that surprising, given that their families had moved in the same circles. It was probably actually more surprising that they’d managed to avoid each other for three years. If what counted in getting a job was who you knew, the two of them winding up at the same company was in fact almost inevitable. Although the last time Julia had seen Edward, he’d been working at the Foreign Office and negotiating stationery contracts seemed like a bit of a come down. But then again, it was all paperwork, one way or another. Or maybe, she thought, with vindictiveness, he’d been fired. Did they fire people for being too polite and not kissing people? There were some occasions when Julia felt it would only be fair and right.

Mr Harding, who had been captured by someone called Ivor with a query about an advertising poster, turned back, glancing from one to the other. “You two know each other?”

“In a way,” said Edward. “Our mothers were friends, and I used to know her older brother quite well.” He looked to Julia. “How is Christy? I haven’t heard from him since he left for the US.”

Julia couldn’t meet his gaze. “Oh, fine, I expect. I haven’t heard from him in a while, either.”

“You two had better catch up later,” said Mr Harding, giving Julia his arm. “She’s _my_ personal assistant, Iveson, and we’ve work to do.” He gave Julia a plaintive look. “You’ve no idea of the mess my last assistant left me in. Thank God you’re here.”

Edward laughed and said something about having to go to Edinburgh and then disappeared again, failing to reappear anywhere near Julia for the next three days.

Julia had come to feel that people vanishing off to other quarters of the world was a very unreasonable thing, and she disliked it, even if in this case it was only Scotland. Therefore, for perfectly logical and just reasons, Edward should pay for this by breaking his reserve and admitting that he liked her. Or, since she wasn’t completely unreasonable, that he had liked her once.

How to achieve it was the problem, but she felt confident it didn’t ought to be too difficult.

 

**ii. summer storm (August)**

It might have been a good strategy, if she’d planned it. Unplanned, Julia couldn’t say she rated it highly.

It had been sunny when she’d left her flat in Bermondsey that morning, and she’d walked along the short distance to the tube station dressed in a light summer suit and blouse, only to find when she emerged further south, where Kingsley and Dent was based, that it was tipping it down. She waited at the entrance for as long as she dared and then made a dash for it down the street, but as she stopped to cross one of the side-streets, she got caught in an awkward juxtaposition between a very large puddle and a car driving too quickly.

She gasped at the shock as the wall of dirty water hit her and then, after staring down at herself in dismay and disbelief, made it to the office block. She squelched her way across the room to the reception desk, dripping on the vinyl as she went, beginning to shiver and feeling that the universe had it in for her. It could have been much worse, of course, and perhaps she ought to feel lucky she hadn’t been caught in another bomb blast or horrible traffic accident, but right now all she wanted was to be dry and clean.

“Debbie,” she said to the receptionist. “Debbie, could you possibly find me a towel or something? I’m drenched through!”

Debbie looked up from the message she’d been scribbling, raising her eyebrows as she took in Julia’s condition. “Oh, love. Oh, dear. Never mind. I’ll see what I can do. Oh, hang on.” She dived down to answer the phone again.

Was there time to go home? What would Mr Harding say? Julia could have wept with annoyance, and when she turned, feeling sure that people were laughing at her, she saw Mr Iveson walking in through the sliding doors. He was carrying an umbrella and a coat over his arm and didn’t look in the least bit wet, which was highly unfair of him.

“My God, Julia,” he said as he caught sight of her, pulling up short a few inches away. “What happened to you?”

She hugged herself, shivering. “A b-blocked drain, a car, and me b-being in exactly the wrong place at the wrong t-time.”

“I see,” said Edward, surveying her. She could see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he managed not to laugh. “Well, yes. They really got you, didn’t they?”

“It was a big puddle. Not a very clean one, either.”

He did laugh then, but he fished in his pockets for a clean handkerchief and passed it over, so she could at least wipe her face.

“Have you got anything you can change into?”

“No.” Did other people keep spare sets of clothes at work in case of the universe ganging up on them on their way in and trying to drown them? Julia had never really considered the possibility before.

Edward took off his jacket. “Well, I have.” He put it round her shoulders.

“I’ll ruin it,” she said, but too late, and she couldn’t be sorry. It wasn’t a cold day, but this kind of unexpected shower made that hard to believe. “Debbie’s going to find a towel. I mean, for the worst of it. And I suppose I’ll dry out as the day goes on.”

Edward looked at her again. “Isn’t Harding meeting with Locksley’s about luxury headed paper? I don’t think you’ll make the best impression with that sort of upmarket company if you walk in like that. Look, I’ll see what I can sort out, because you either need someone to lend you something, or to go back home and change. You live in Southwark, don’t you?”

“Bermondsey. Yes.”

Edward lent over the reception desk and stole the telephone, but at that point Debbie returned with a scraggy-looking but dry striped towel. Julia clutched at it gratefully, starting work on the ends of her hair.

“I’ll have to nip upstairs,” said Edward turning back to her, “but I told Harding you’d had an accident, and so Angela’s going to stand in for you. He says he owes you an hour or two anyway. And I’ve got a meeting somewhere off Borough Road, so I’ll take you. You can get a taxi back.”

Julia opened her mouth to argue with him about high-handed behaviour, but then merely nodded. There was no way she was spending the day soaked and grimy, and more time with Edward could only forward her plan.

 

“I could get a taxi both ways,” she said, when he met her at the door, having changed into a slightly different grey suit. Obviously, Edward _did_ think about the universe dropping buckets of water at him, or terrible lunch time soup accidents, perhaps. The suit was a little creased, though, Julia noted with unsatisfactory pettiness.

Edward ushered her out the door. “Honestly, I’m in plenty of time and it’s more or less on the way. Come on.”

Julia followed him back to the car. The universe evidently was having a joke at her expense today, since it had already stopped raining. “You had an umbrella,” she said. “In the car?”

“For walking between the car park and the door,” he said, opening the door for her. “As I think you may have noticed, it was raining.”

“Quite the boy scout,” said Julia. “Prepared for all eventualities including rescuing unprepared personal assistants.”

Edward started up the car. “I don’t know why you make that sound like an insult. And, for your information, I was never a boy scout.”

As they drove off, Julia stared out the window. “Was Mr Harding very annoyed?”

Edward glanced at her. “No. And I did remind him that you stayed late at least three evenings last week. I’m pretty sure he owes you more than a couple hours. Make sure he gives you them – or the overtime.”

Julia caught her breath at his casual confession of interest in her welfare and turned her head towards him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and when she waited for him to elaborate, he gave a small grimace. “I heard about Rudy. It seems to have been a rotten couple of years for you all. And talking of your brothers, how _is_ Christy? I didn’t want to press you too hard about it with Harding around, but I would like to know.”

Julia felt her throat tighten, and it took her a few moments before she could reply. “You know what he’s like. He wrote to me from New York, telling me that he’d arrived and that he had an idea about what he was doing next, but he’d keep it a surprise for now. It’s been nearly a year!”

“It’s Christy, though, isn’t it?” said Edward, his voice level. “If he had some grand idea – well, I _do_ know how he is.”

Julia nodded. “I know. I just worry his plans have all gone wrong and he can’t face us again – it was bad enough after Father died, but when Rudy died –” Julia brushed away unwanted tears. She was already damp enough. “I think he wanted to prove himself. And I know, I know. I’ve been telling myself that it’s only Christy being Christy, and one day he’ll turn up on the doorstep exactly the same as ever.”

“I’ll make some enquiries, if you like,” said Edward. “I’ve still got some contacts from my previous life. But don’t think the worst yet, Julia. You’d be far more likely to have heard if something _had_ happened to him.”

“Thanks.” Julia studied his profile as he drove, glancing up at the rear-view mirror, as he came to a stop at the next set of lights. “Why did you leave the Foreign Office, anyway?”

He shrugged. “Harding offered me this, and as I wasn’t going anywhere there, I accepted. I quite like it, as it turns out.” He turned to grin at her, briefly, and she laughed, despite herself.

“Selling envelopes?”

Edward nodded. “As you ought to know by now, not merely envelopes. We do a full range.”

“Yes. I’ve learned a lot about paper thicknesses, luxury finishes, and watermarks in the last month.”

“Quite right,” he said, and directed another quick glance at her. “How is your mother? She wasn’t very well last time I was round there. Is Vienna suiting her?”

Julia turned her head sharply, but he was already looking at the road again, frowning. “It’s not Vienna. Other end of the country. A small place not far from Salzburg. She’s staying with her aunt. She’ll be back in a few months, though. Father’s side of the family were being even more obnoxious than usual, so she had to do something, and she does at least sound a bit happier on the phone.” She hesitated, but had to ask, “You went to see her?”

“Of course,” he said, his voice lifting in surprise. “Not as often as I should, but a couple of times.”

“She didn’t say.”

Edward turned down Julia’s road. “Why should she?”

“No reason,” said Julia. “Over here,” she said, pointing, and Edward indicated and pulled in. “Thanks.” She looked at him, and caught her breath, wondering what to say next, how to use this to her advantage.

“Go on,” he said. “You can’t sit about all day like that, and I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

Julia laughed, and thanked him again, and left. As she reached the main door to the flats, she found she was still smiling, inwardly warmed, despite her damp clothes and hair. Everyone else seemed to keep leaving her behind, one way or another, and it felt good to have Edward back – and learn that in some ways, he had never gone. Nevertheless, glad as she was not to have been mistaken in him, it did hurt that he’d seen the rest of her family since their fall from grace – but not her.

“Damn it,” she said, as she made her way in and up the stairs to her second floor flat. As far as her plans for Edward, she didn’t seem to have advanced very far, despite the unexpected opportunity.

She’d better go and get changed and do better next time.

 

**iii. clichés (September)**

“Drat,” said Julia, clearly and in Edward Iveson’s hearing. “I think I’ve got something in my eye.”

“Turn around,” said Angela, Edward’s secretary, coming up behind her. “Now, stand still. Hmm.” She squinted, despite the fluorescent lighting strips above. “I can’t see anything. Must just have been an eyelash.”

Julia laughed. “I expect so. Thanks, anyway.”

A sidelong glance at her target revealed that he hadn’t even looked up from his work. All that meant, of course, was that she’d have to try harder.

 

She was pretty sure that fainting in the general direction of Edward would be a bit much. Besides, she had never been the fainting sort. 

 

Walking along the corridor between their respective offices, she dropped several files at his feet, gasping out a flustered, “Sorry!”

“Ju – Miss Graves,” he said, frowning at the inconvenience, although he managed to catch her by the arm, steadying her before she followed the scattered pages to the floor. “You should look where you’re going.”

“That’s not very chivalrous of you, Iveson,” said Harry from Design, emerging from a door beside them. “Miss Graves, allow _me_.”

Edward looked at his watch and stifled an exclamation, hurrying on past at a pace, while Harry knelt down and helped Julia gather up the thin sheets of paper and card files.

“Thank you,” said Julia, rising to her feet.

Harry gave her a wink. “My pleasure. Fancy a drink sometime?”

Why couldn’t she like someone that straight-forward?

But then, thought Julia once back at her desk, here she was plotting out clichés instead of anything more direct, for reasons she didn’t care to examine too closely, so maybe she didn’t have grounds on which to complain about anyone else’s lack of straight-forwardness.

 

**iv. flights of fancy (November)**

Maybe, she thought, while in the middle of updating Mr Harding’s diary, Edward _was_ a straight-forward person and he simply didn’t like her, not in a romantic way. Perhaps he had only ever been kind to her because she was Hanne’s daughter and Christy’s sister, and because he always had been too polite to ignore people. Maybe he didn’t even like women, anyway. Maybe that had been why his first marriage had been such a short-lived disaster.

He spoke to her in passing, and always asked after her mother, and promised to tell her the moment he had news of Christy. (Nothing concrete as yet, he’d said last time, but his contact had seemed to think he might be onto something). 

And sometimes Mr Harding said things like, “I suppose you had better have the afternoon off before we leave for the conference, or I’ll have Iveson telling me I overwork you again. You’re too indispensable, my dear.”

Which proved that Edward was thinking about her, although maybe all it showed was that he was a fair sort of person who disapproved of Mr Harding forgetting his personal assistant needed to go home at a reasonable hour every now and then.

The trouble was, Edward was frequently not in the office at all, and somewhere in Hamburg or Stockholm, Edinburgh or Manchester, or Lyons or Amsterdam. It was a bit hard to tell anything when she was sitting in an office in south west London, and he was absent again.

 

One day, when Edward was in Birmingham, and Angela had gone down to the post room to chase up some missing mail, his phone had rung, and Julia had answered it. She perched on the edge of the desk and fished around for some scrap paper to scribble the message on, and as she put the telephone down, she looked up to find him standing in the doorway, watching her.

For a moment, he stared, as if unable to comprehend what ought to have been perfectly comprehensible. He drew in a breath, but failed at managing words to follow.

“Your telephone rang and Angela was out,” she said, gently, in the end, sliding off the desk, and letting go of the pencil and paper. “I took the number. They want you to ring them back when you can.”

He shook himself, and thanked her.

“No trouble,” she said, heading past him to the door.

“Julia,” he said, before she made it into the outer office.

She turned her head. “Yes?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Sorry. Thank you. Don’t let me keep you from your work.”

She knew then that whatever it was that held him back, it wasn’t that he didn’t want her. It wasn’t the sort of thing you could hold up in court as evidence, but just for a minute there, he’d caught his breath and he’d looked at her as if he’d been having thoughts involving her and the desk of a kind that made Julia feel very smug indeed.

 

**v. games (December)**

Julia found Edward sitting on the stairs leading down from the function hall. When she reached him, she saw that he was holding a handkerchief to his face. He’d laid his navy jacket on the steps beside him, and there were drops of blood on his light yellow shirt.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been in a fight.” Julia smoothed out the skirt of her long lilac frock and sat down next to him. She’d last seen him being dragged away to talk shop with Mr Harding, and she couldn’t imagine the two of them getting in a punch up. 

Edward lifted his head, cautiously removing the hanky. “If you can call it that. Hunter from Accounts was yelling at Ivor Wilkins for being a cheat and threatening to hit him. He was pretty drunk, so I thought I’d make sure he didn’t do anything either of them would regret.”

“And you got a bloody nose for your pains?”

“It did at least mean that Ivor got safely away, I suppose,” Edward said. “Can’t say he seemed that grateful, though.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “I think it’s stopped bleeding at last. Remind me next time Hunter wants to knock someone’s block off, just to let him.”

Julia leant forward on the step, knees together, and rested her chin on her hands. “Well, actually, I wanted to remind you that you said you had something for me.”

“God, yes, sorry.” He reached over for his jacket and searched in its pockets until he fished out a crumpled envelope. 

“Is it a Christmas card?”

He shook his head. “No. Open it.”

Julia did so, pulling out the filing card that was inside. One side was blank. The other had an address typed on it. She caught her breath as she read it. “Wisconsin? What’s Christy doing there?”

“I don’t know if he is,” said Edward. “But I told you my friend had a lead. That’s his most recent known address. You can give it a try – he was there six months ago – might be there still.”

Julia nodded, blinking back tears. “Although, if he’s not writing to me or mother and he’s hiding out in somewhere in Wisconsin, you’ve got to wonder what he’s been up to this time.”

“Well, you know Christy. But he does at least tend to land on his feet.”

Julia put the card in her handbag, and caught sight of the mistletoe inside, producing it with a flourish. “Hang on.”

“Do you have holly in there as well?” murmured Edward, watching with interest.

“No, don’t be silly. I might injure myself trying to get at my keys. Besides, I don’t usually carry mistletoe around. I stole this because Fred Hunter was being obnoxious about winning the mistletoe kissing competition.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was tradition, not a competitive sport.”

“Yes, well,” Julia waved a hand. “While you went off with Mr Harding, things got very silly upstairs. What started off with mistletoe wound up with balloon races. But, anyway, count this as my thanks – and adding you to my list of victims, of course.”

She stretched over and kissed him on the cheek, careful to avoid the still red bruises.

“You know,” said Edward, “I’m fairly sure Hunter was muttering something about mistletoe and cheating when he was trying to murder Ivor earlier. Victim might be uncomfortably accurate, thanks.”

Julia put her hands to her mouth, but couldn’t keep from laughing helplessly, almost bent double on the steps. “Oh, no! Mr Iveson, I’m sorry!”

“I hope you win the wretched competition,” said Edward. “I’d hate to have acquired a black eye for nothing.”

Julia swallowed back further giggles. “Oh, dear. But somebody had to stop Fred, so at least it was in a good cause. Look, why don’t you come back upstairs with me? You don’t have to dance – as I said, we got started with party games. I think it’s supposed to be the one with the orange next.”

“I have a feeling that I’ve already lost more dignity than I can afford tonight as it is. I am assistant head of Sales and Marketing. What were you planning to do with an orange, anyway?”

“Pass it along without using hands,” said Julia. “A few of us vetoed the key on the string. Debbie was going to try the chocolate game, but I don’t think anyone had a dice.”

Edward shook his head. 

“Yes, I expect none of it is proper assistant headly behaviour.” She put a hand to his arm, and gave him a smile. “Shame, though.”

“Ah, Iveson,” said Harding from behind them. “There you are. I thought you’d gone. Very wise, too. Someone’s started charades, so I decided discretion was the better part of valour. I’d be careful of her, by the way,” he said with a nod to Julia, “she’ll want you for another notch on her scoreboard. How many is it now?”

Julia put the mistletoe away. “That would be telling, sir.”

“Did you beat up all the others first, too?” said Edward.

She gave him a sidelong look as she slid her hand into his, briefly. “Only you,” she said softly. “I promise.” She got to her feet, facing Mr Harding, and giving him a smile. “I was trying to get him to come upstairs and join in.”

“A Herculean task,” said Mr Harding. “Even if it wasn’t charades at the moment. Someone promised me chocolate, but that was apparently false advertising.”

Edward picked up his jacket and Julia’s bag, handing it back to her. He gave Harding a nod, and leant in to kiss Julia on the cheek, as lightly as she had him. 

“In that case,” he said, “I think I shall go home and nurse my wounds. Happy Christmas to both of you.” He walked away down the steps.

Julia looked in her bag for her mirror, belatedly wondering how she’d looked. After all, before she’d gone in search of Edward, she’d been jumping about trying to keep a balloon between her knees among other equally ridiculous activities. Then she gave a slight squeak, as she realised that while her mirror was there, something else had gone. “Oh, the bastard – I mean, sorry, Mr Harding!”

“If you want to insult Iveson, don’t mind me,” said Mr Harding. “Not when we’re off-duty, anyway. He’s a terrible stick in the mud. He didn’t even stay this long last year. Was it for any reason in particular?”

Julia snapped the bag shut, unable to keep from laughing. “He’s swiped my mistletoe!”

 

**vi. horoscope (January 1975)**

“When’s your birthday?” asked Julia as Edward passed by her in the staff room. She was sitting on an orange-cushioned metal chair, drinking a mug of tea and flicking through a discarded magazine. “March, isn’t it? Aries or Pisces?”

He turned from where he had been looking through the cupboard. “What? You don’t believe in that nonsense, do you? I’d have thought you’d have more sense.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Julia, biting back a smile. “It depends.” She paused and frowned. “What _are_ you doing?”

“I’m missing some crockery from my office again.”

Julia laughed. “It must be all the dodgy sales reps and people you have to see. They probably nick all the teaspoons, too.”

“That’s not very helpful,” said Edward. He closed the cupboard and turned around, leaning against the worktop. “I should have tried Harding’s office first. These kinds of things do seem to wind up in there.”

Julia straightened. “Well, I haven’t pinched anything of yours, if that’s what you mean. I can check for you when I’ve finished my coffee, if you’ll hang on. Now, do you want to hear your horoscope or not?”

“Not,” said Edward. “Honestly, Julia.”

She stood, and brushed past him, carrying her cup back to the sink to swill it off. “I find it pays to keep an open mind.”

“There’s opened minded and then there’s plain gullible,” he said.

“Pisces,” said Julia, opening up the magazine, regardless of his objections. “Yes. This week it’s time to attend to matters of the heart. You may find that the perfect someone has been staring you in the face all along. Venus is in the ascendant, did I say?”

“Julia –”

“Pisces,” Julia continued, “is particularly compatible with Taurus or Gemini. Oh, and watch out for your boss. He’s an incurable crockery thief. Now, what do you say about it all being complete guff?”

Edward made a grab for the magazine, but she side-stepped him, hastily putting it behind her back. “You made that up.”

“ _Did_ I?” said Julia, widening her eyes, and biting down on laughter that would have ruined her innocent act. “Now, why would I do that, Mr Iveson?”

Julia,” he said, moving to block her path as she tried to make her way out of the room. “You did invent that, didn’t you? Not just the part about the crockery.”

She smiled. “There are ways to find out.”

“Julia. If you’re serious, I need to know.”

She hugged the magazine against herself. “Aren’t all horoscopes rubbish? You don’t believe in them.”

Edward moved in nearer, taking hold of the top of the magazine, his hand against her top as he gave it a tug.

“Mr Iveson,” said Angela, opening the door, causing them both to step back from each other. “I’ve found the other box of crockery dumped in the bottom of the filing cabinet, so –” She stopped. “Sorry, but I’m afraid the other thing I came to say was that Mr Harding wants you again.”

“Er, yes, thank you, Miss Barron,” said Edward. He glanced back at Julia before he left. “Later, Miss Graves?” he said, and she nodded.

As he went out of the door, Julia saw Angela watching her warily before she looked away. Julia felt the urge to defend herself against some unspoken accusation. She could understand the other’s reaction – as Julia knew, Edward tended to take things seriously, unlike plenty of other people in this office she could be idly flirting with.

“Mr Iveson and I are old acquaintances,” Julia said lightly, dropping the magazine back onto the coffee table now it had served its purpose. “He used to know my brother Christy.”

Angela nodded. “Not that it’s any of my business, of course.”

Julia smiled and hurried away. Mr Harding would probably want her as well, if there the meeting was going to start soon. As she walked back up the stairs and along the corridor, she couldn’t keep from asking those unspoken questions of herself. What _did_ she want with Edward Iveson, after she’d accomplished this frivolous mission of hers? Merely a victory to assuage her injured pride; one night to get him out of her system; an actual relationship?

“Oh, God,” said Julia under her breath, causing Ivor to frown at her as he passed by with a box file under his arm. She dived into the nearby ladies’ loo, and leant over the basin, clutched the edge of the surface, as she forced herself to be calm. She was being ridiculous, she knew. But there were reasons she hadn’t asked herself that, why she hadn’t been anything like as obvious or direct as she could have been, because if she had, she’d have had to leave the matter alone, unless Edward asked her out himself.

It couldn’t be _her_ doing, that was the thing, not really, and provoking him a little didn’t count. It had to be Edward who made the move, so that then it wasn’t her fault, she wasn’t snatching at happiness, when she knew how that ended. 

Happiness wasn’t allowed yet. Not after Father, after Rudy. Not when she had a terrible feeling that Mother was worse than she was admitting, all those miles away with her aunt, and when she hadn’t had an actual reply from Christy. Julia sometimes felt as if her family had been cursed, and it wasn’t fair to share a curse about with innocent bystanders, was it?

“Damn,” she said to her reflection in the mirror. She would have to decide exactly what she _did_ want before she tackled Edward again – and whether or not she was prepared to risk having someone else to lose.

She wasn’t sure she was.

 

**vii. Victory (February)**

Julia finished typing up her last letter of the day, and gave the clock on the wall opposite a rueful look. She hadn’t planned to stay this late, but it was Friday, and she’d wanted to get all this done before she left for the weekend. She pulled the paper and carbon out of the machine, separating the sheets, putting the letter on the post pile, the copy to be filed, and then turned with a start as someone walked in.

“Miss Graves,” said Edward, who’d reverted to formality after Julia had avoided him for a few days. She felt rather guilty about that, but she hadn’t really felt up to explaining her irrational bout of panicking, not yet. “Is Harding still around? I wanted to speak to him.”

She shook her head. “He had some dinner he had to go to.”

“You shouldn’t stay so late,” Edward said, but without real conviction. He sat down on the nearest empty desk, and put a hand to his head. “It’ll have to wait, I suppose, but he’s going to be furious. When I got to Amsterdam, it turned out they had already done a deal with another company – Bon Papier, I think. I was wasting my breath the whole time – the thing was already signed and sealed. And it was a terrible crossing, too.”

Julia put the last few copies of the letters into the folder in the filing cabinet, and shut the draw with a clang. She turned, and leant against it, watching him. She’d made up her mind now. It had proved to be easy, after all. She didn’t have to do anything further to lose Edward; simply never trying would be as bad by this point as anything that might happen after she won him over – if she still could.

“Don’t worry about Mr Harding,” she said, closing the distance between them. “He knew about it all. He came rushing in this morning, hoping he could stop you, but, of course, you left yesterday. He muttered about the perfidy of the French and then laughed about you having a wasted journey, although he did say it was a nuisance – he could have used you elsewhere. I don’t think he’ll be angry with you, anyway.”

Edward closed his eyes and loosened his tie. “Damn them all, then. At least it’s Friday.”

“Hang on,” said Julia, disappearing into the inner office, and returning with Mr Harding’s bottle of scotch, and a glass. “I think at this point he owes you.”

“Why not?” said Edward, as she pressed the glass into his hand, their fingers touching briefly. He took a sip, while she set about tidying every on her desk, ready to leave. He had nothing to do but watch her; she could feel his gaze without looking across. 

“Julia,” he said, after a few minutes, putting down the half-empty glass. “What did I do? One minute we were fine – so I thought – and the next, you’re hiding from me.”

She pushed her chair into its place at the desk, and, everything now put away and tidied, she walked over to face him. “I was being silly. Afraid, I suppose. I’m sorry.”

“It was only after the party that I dared to wonder if you might like me,” he said, catching hold of her hand, and pulling her in closer. “The other week, with the horoscopes, I thought you must. You do, don’t you? I just couldn’t believe it, you see – I’ve liked you for a very long time, even when I was still married to Caroline, if I’m honest.”

Julia bit her lip to keep from laughing, and took the last step to land up against him, pressing her face into his jacket, stifling giggles.

“Why is that funny?” he said, slipping off the table and standing, still clasping her hand. “If this is only another game –”

Julia stretched up and kissed him, catching him awkwardly, and then gripping his lapels as she kissed him again, more firmly. “It’s no game,” she promised. “That was what scared me.”

Edward put his arms around her, his grip tightening at her words, and then kissed her in the office, exactly the way she’d wanted, enough to banish all the guilt and doubt, at least while it lasted, and then, a few minutes later, standing up against the empty desk, Edward pushed her gently away and said, “Julia. Oh, God, wait –”

“No,” she said, catching at his jacket. “Don’t start saying this is inappropriate, or we shouldn’t, or –”

He kissed her again, breathlessly, but he was laughing. “No, no, of course not. It’s only – I arrived by taxi.”

“Yes?” said Julia. “And?”

Edward shook his head, searching around for his coat and briefcase, rescuing them from where he’d dumped them by the side of the desk. “So, I told the driver to wait, I was only dropping off these files. I have to go before I owe a fortune in fares!”

She watched him head to the door, suddenly uncertain, in case it was an excuse to get away from her, despite everything.

“Julia. You _are_ coming with me, aren’t you?” he said, turning at the door and watching her with equal uncertainty.

Julia relaxed into a smile. She grabbed her coat and bag, and hurried over to take his hand, tightening her fingers around his. “Oh, yes. You can’t get rid of me now.” She looked up. “Let’s go find that taxi.”


End file.
